


Ragnarok

by Diana_Prallon



Series: The Four Faces of The Godess [27]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Dark Magic, Dark Merlin, Gen, Implied/Referenced Incest, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Prallon/pseuds/Diana_Prallon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is only fitting that she, who devoted her life to destruction and hatred would become witness to the ultimate ruin of the world they had once lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ragnarok

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Merlin_Writers troop bingo to the square "apocalypse".

It was only fitting that they would meet again now, in the end of all things. As the sky broke in two as glass broken by clumsy hands, they came back; together.

She was as lovely as he remembered; or perhaps even more so. Her eyes were pale and green like the sea during spring; her hair as dark as the night that approached them all. Each of her curves spelled doom, the gentle swell of her hips, the round curve of her breasts so tightly bound by black lace. There was no gentleness in the curve of her jaw, sharp as her words had ever been, and her thin, rosy lips chanted for the death of everything.

He was, as always, powerless in front of her; once again a boy discovering the allure of the gentler sex; once again a mere human facing the full rage of the goddess.

And yet, he loved her.

* * *

 

She had never expected to be called back, but it does not surprise her that when she _is,_ there is nothing but destruction to witness and beside the brother she had fought to destroy.

It is only fitting that she, who devoted her life to destruction and hatred would become witness to the ultimate ruin of the world they had once lived.

And of course he would be with her – she had never truly been without him. He had always been inside her heart, a voice in her memory, a mark in her heart. He had been her friend and her executioner; he had been her lover and her brother; he had been her sanity and her folly. He was exactly as she remembered him; almost too perfect to be real. His eyes were still too light, too pure for such a world. His hair shone golden even where light was no more. His lips were too soft, his jaw too chiseled, too stubborn as he refused to plead for his (new) life.

She was always powerful next to him, a woman well aware of how much she could do; a priestess and a vessel for something more than herself.

And yet, she loved him.

* * *

 

His sword raised in an arch; glinting with the magic of an age long gone. Her voice ever stronger as the incantation was pulled out from her. Their hands met, not in battle, but in union; fingers intertwined as they senselessly fought the end of everything. They called, their hearts – so often at odds – finally together, pleading, praying, demanding that the horrific and corrupted power came back to where it belonged – where it had always belong – by their side; their very best friend and their very worst betrayal.

Together, for the first time in an eternity, they called to their kin – his destiny, her doom – and for the first time in hundreds of thousands of years their voice was heard in the land of living; in the ears of the never-dying; as they cut through magic and science to the center of that inferno; the center of the devastation; to the core where the man they once knew – that once saved them, once killed them – stood.

(Too little, too late. They could not reach him).

 


End file.
